The fourth book in the South Village Singles series, 2003

HE’D ONCE BEEN CALLED a selfish bastard, and Ben Asher figured that to be a fairly accurate assessment. He lived his life on his own terms and kept his emotional entanglements pared down to, well, him. Thanks to his freelancing job as a photojournalist for National Geographic and Outside, among others, he could pack up and leave at the drop of a hat, without looking back. Even now, after only a few months of being in the Amazon, he’d be moving on to his next assignment soon.

Good old Africa, here he came.

He moved through the strangling, thick, wet, green growth so unique to the Brazilian jungle, finally breaking free into a small clearing containing a couple of temporary structures. He crossed the clearing and stepped over the threshold of the reserve’s office, which, due to the proverbial lack of funds, was the size of a postage stamp. They’d been without electricity and phones for nearly a month, only just today getting the phones turned on. Warily, he met Maria’s glare. Apparently the calls were coming in too fast and furious for her liking.

Maria, his temp, had been forced to walk approximately twenty-five big, whopping yards from the office to the radio hut to radio him about this call. Noting it was hotter than hell outside, he figured he understood. “Gracias.”

She didn’t respond, but then again, she rarely did. She’d come to him from his previous assignment near Rio, where Ben had uncovered a so-called American ministry. The “minister,” Manuel Asada, had run an international charity scam, which through the years had earned him untold wealth. Targeting churchgoing, generous souls in the name of humanity, Asada had solicited funds and promised to build villages and feed the poor.